Taking Sides
by TerraceBerceau
Summary: Three months after the War, Harry has been called to teach at Hogwarts. As he sees the parallels between himself and Tom Riddle, certain feelings are born and others are broken. How does one deal with students, fights, rules, morals, and death when magic is involved? Eventual Drarry.
1. Chapter 1

The late summer sun rose lazily over the horizon, blanketing all of England in a warm, crimson glow. Over the orchards, the fields, and into small dusty windows it crept, wiping darkness from every surface. The light touched a sleeping Harry, who laid sprawled on his copy of Hogwarts, A History. It lifted a little gloom from the Burrow.

Harry had been up all night, studying like a madman. How could he not? An 18 year old, going back to Hogwarts. He needed to be on top of his game, lest the seventh years treat him like an idiot.

But he was not going in empty handed.

The crimson light turned orange and then unmistakable yellow. It woke Harry just enough to remind him that he had a job to do. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and massaged the knot in his neck. Outside, a bell struck nine.

Two hours.

He grabbed his wand from inside the spine of his textbook and murmured "accio glasses", satisfied when they flew, gently, onto his face. It would be a great day.

Downstairs, voices had started murmuring.

"He's going to miss the first day, I'll tell you now. Completely miss the train, the boats, the sorting. I can see it now. Daily Prophet would read, 'Chosen One Disappoints the Wizards Of Tomorrow'." Ron said, his rough voice rising though the floorboards.

"Oh, sod off. He'll be fine. I'm sure he's waking up now."

In a flit of whim, Harry apparated in front of his best friend. The crack of sound startled Ron, who stepped back and tripped over a mop bucket. "What the hell?"

"Sorry." Harry said, shrugging on his shirt and helping himself to some toast. "I didn't realize I'm not allowed to apparate."

Hermione smirked. "Ron has been out of sorts lately, realizing that we won't see you for awhile."

"Well, he should unbunch his knickers. I can have guests, of course."

Molly, balancing three platters of pastries laughed aloud. "I very much doubt it. Now that all the Weasley's are finally gone, I imagine Minerva would like a little break between visits."

Harry smiled at both his adoptive mother and the thought of Minerva as Headmistress. She was every bit the perfect candidate, and absolutely fair. Strict, headstrong, and committed to her students above all else, Harry couldn't imagine a better person to lead after the war. Fifty-six Death Eaters, members of the Order and children passed away in the catastrophe that Voldemort had perpetrated. Among them, his close friend Remus Lupin, and Ron's brother Fred. The school needed leadership, and she would get it back on its feet.

Even after three months of grief, all the Weasley's looked as if tiny parts of them had broken off. Ginny had stopped speaking almost completely. George would leave for hours, only coming home to eat and sleep. He devoted every moment to the shop, because Fred would have wanted him to turn his grief into laughter for someone else. So George worked on gag after gag, joke after joke. Sometimes Ron would help him, but usually he just kept to himself.

Molly was the worst. Devastation mangled her already delicate features and aged her. She never slept. Arthur had become accustomed to sleeping alone, letting Molly roam and knit in the night instead. She single handedly made hats and scarves for all of the freed house elves in England (most of whom lived in Hogwarts by choice) and became very close to Hermione. It was wonderful for both of them, since Ron and her had begun dating. They were a sweet couple, really, if not a little dorky. Molly fully approved and it took her mind off of Fred every so often.

Harry found himself staying at the Burrow yet again, busying himself in personal studies and looking for the wizard equivalent of a GED. That was until...

"Minerva expects you to be there early, with the other teachers."

It was Molly who spoke, hushed and sweet. Only she knew the truth.

Harry had been asked to fill the Defense against the Dark Arts position, without graduation. When he brought up his lack of credentials, the school board shot him down. They were amazed by his "bravery", "nobility" and "humility under the circumstances". It was a unanimous decision, that Harry should teach DADA because of the horrors that he had seen and his adaption to risky situations. A natural born leader, they had heard about Dumbledores Army and were already planning Harry's welcome party.

Harry was not the only one offered a position. Neville had been offered herbology with no hesitation. He refused at first, planning to take a year of study abroad first and then returning to relieve professor Sprout. It would be nice to see a familiar face in a not so familiar role.

Hermione, oddly, had not been offered any teaching positions. She was very quickly taken into an internship at the local archives, however, and enjoyed a few months of menial activities. After all of the strife the last few years had been, menial was good. They all agreed on that.

"I can't believe you're going back to Hogwarts. I mean, a seventh year at eighteen? They don't do that for everyone, Harry. It's all very... Odd. You could easily find work without a finished education." Hermione murmured, taking a pastry from Molly's plate.

"That, coming from you?"

Hermione went pink. "I know what you're thinking. But I honestly feel that I received more than NEWTS in our year outside school. The war was devastating, but it was a true magical education on power and it's affects. I don't regret leaving Hogwarts."

"It helps you work at a library now." Ron snickered into his pasty.

"Shut it. The minister himself offered me a career in Magical Law, but I've refused for the time being."

Harry smiled darkly. "Do you mean to pass the Magical Bar Exam first?"

The joke was not lost on Hermione, but she did not laugh. "I do, in fact. Or some equivalent. But that's not information I can learn at Hogwarts. It's what I've been learning at the Archives."

They all looked at the girl, marveling in her strength of character. Anyone else would have jumped at the chance, but not Hermione. She needed to have the chance to prove herself worthy first.

"Well. I hope the offer will still stand five years down the line, dear." Molly said. "Not that it won't, but people do forget these things, the same way they forgot Lucius Malfoy is a traitorous, villainous piece of scum last time."

Harry jumped to her rescue. "I'm sure no one will forget the genius who destroyed part of Voldemort's very soul with a basilisk fang."

"Thank you Harry," she said, blushing a harsh red color. "But I know that I'm going to one day be obsolete. I'm not waiting around forever. Another few months, maybe. I'm just too tired right now for anything strenuous."

Ron looked at her quizzically, and then Harry. Harry would have to explain later that she was depressed. Hermione had been very good at hiding her symptoms, but Harry remembered vividly what it felt like to be so low. His whole life at the Dursley's was actually rather hard to remember, because the days weren't important. Every day felt like a blue cloud of anguish had taken all of his happiness. A dementor could have floated by without hesitation because his heart was so devoid of joy. Things that normal children had, friends, games, a family to talk to, he did not have. Life was ever so difficult to manage when there were no distractions from the darkness.

Hermione, after the war, had finally seen things the way they were. Harsh, cold, and unknown. Her own parents were still wandering Australia, and her life in London could not happen if they were in their right minds. Dentists, as you may know, are very invasive in nature. She knew that they would have to stay hidden, and it hurt her.

Meanwhile, Harry was trying to keep his intense fear of the day at bay. A teacher? What was he thinking?! He was only a year older than some of his students! They would treat him disrespectfully. They would hate him.

He hadn't bothered to tell Ron or Hermione just yet. They would need to know in the future, but not at that exact moment. Both would disapprove.

The clock chimed ten and Harry swore as he shot out of his seat and into the bathroom. He used a freshening charm on his appearance, changed his clothes and picked a piece of dough out from his teeth. His hair fell uncontrollably around his head like a bush. In the mirror, he saw the beginnings of dark shadows around his eyes. It, oddly, reminded him of Snape.

Maybe it was the christening of Teachership.

"Harry! If you don't hurry, the train will leave without you."

He took one final look at his green eyes and small scar, amazed that so much had happened and so little had changed. His face felt older but only physically. Inside, he was that same eleven year old boy who just wanted a little love.

"CMON Harry!" Hermione called up the staircase.

With that, he took his coat and levitated his trunk down the stairs and out into the late morning sun.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry knew he was an adult by the way all the first years looked at him. They were curious, because clearly he was too old to be a student and too young to be a teacher. What sort of odd entity could he be? They peered into his carriage but didn't dare approach him. It took a few minutes for word to spread that Harry Potter was on the train.

"I thought he was dead."

"He killed you-know-who!"

"My brother died in the war. He was a friend of Harry's."

Colin Creevy, Harry remembered fondly. That must have been Dennis then, a fourth year. His brother Collin was both incredibly annoying and incredibly kind, but had not made it through the War. Harry remembered Dennis as a spitting image of his brother. That would be a little hard to swallow.

One brave little boy opened Harry's carriage without a word and sat right beside him. The child was thinner, softer, and obviously a first year. He wasn't afraid though, and silently ate a little bit of a pastry from his pocket. Neither looked at the other until the sweets trolly came by.

"Any snacks here? Mr. Potter? I do know how you love those chocolate frogs." The trolly keeper commented warmly, her apron askew. She seemed a little disheveled, almost stars struck. It was both annoying and adorable.

"No thank you, but perhaps my friend would like something."

He peered down at the tiny boy, who froze in his place. The boy's blonde-white hair faintly reminded him of Draco Malfoy. The boy was nothing like Malfoy, however, as he sat in complete silence without a single sign of hearing Harry. Maybe he was deaf?

Finding courage within himself, Harry crouched in front of the blond boy and looked him straight in the eye. He signed, "are you okay?"

No response.

Hm. He'd have to try a different approach.

The boy's eyes followed Harry, but he didn't speak. He could clearly understand that Harry wanted to communicate, yet that didn't matter to him. He kept chomping away at his pastry like an eleven year old would and ignored the elder wizard completely.

Harry looked back at the trolley driver, a little embarrassed. "Nothing here, thanks."

She huffed and shut the carriage door, muttering something about "ridiculous first years". It was enough to make the ten or so kids hanging around his compartment curious. They peered in, looking at both Harry in adult robes and the little boy completely ignoring him. First years indeed.

Harry, meanwhile, was miffed that he couldn't get the boy to communicate with him. He tried signing again, "can you sign?" But the boy clearly didn't understand. He stopped chewing and adopted the husky-puppy-head-cock.

"Why are you moving your fingers like that?"

Harry jumped a little in surprise. The voice was so familiar, like it was ripped out of a memory. It was the voice of eleven year old Draco.

"So you can speak. You were just ignoring me?"

"I didn't want anything from the trolley."

Harry couldn't argue with such sound logic. "What's your name?"

"Alois."

"Alois what?"

"Just Alois."

It effectively stumped Harry, that the boy looked and sounded so familiar, but he didn't press it. Instead, he breezed into the next subject. "What year are you?"

"First. What year are you?"

Harry chuckled. "I'm not in school anymore."

"Then why are you headed in a train towards the school?"

Good question. Harry smiled darkly. "Because I'm a teacher."

This made the boy seize up. "You're a teacher? But you look like a kid."

"Like magic." Harry smiled generously.

Harry immediately liked the boy, once he began speaking. Something about Alois reminded him of his own first year, and the dangers that had unfolded in front of him. Looking at the child now, it was hard to imagine that Harry himself had been that small, fighting the greatest Dark Wizard since Salazar Slytherin himself. He hasn't defeated Voldemort then, but he had gotten damn near close.

"You know what house you'll be placed in, yes?"

"Yes." He said, a little unsure. "That is, I know what my mother would want. But I... I don't know if that's how it is."

"What House was your mother?"

Alois paused, perhaps wondering if it was okay to discuss family details with a complete stranger. After a moment he deemed it acceptable. "She was a Slytherin, see. But she died some years ago."

Harry's heart broke for the little, suddenly melancholy boy. "Was she beautiful?"

"Yes, I think so." He smiled bravely at Harry. "She wanted me to go to Hogwarts very badly. She said I could be whatever House I wanted, but she was a Slytherin."

Harry bit his lip. He wanted to tell the sweet boy next to him that the sorting hat listened to requests, but wasn't sure if that was entirely true. It was for him, but only because he had affinities for multiple houses. Alois would have to fight for Slytherin.

"Just muster all your courage." He said lamely.

It didn't matter to Alois. Any advice was good advice. "Thank you, sir."

"My name is Harry Potter."

The boy's features paled considerably. They changed from light to absolute white, almost blue. His eyes, already massive and ice colored were that much larger. Never had Harry seen such surprise on someone's face.

"YOU'RE Harry Potter?"

Harry glanced out the window, thoroughly embarrassed. It wasn't Alois's shock, it was the fact that the same shock would be reflected on every member of staff and in every student's eyes... That was, if news didn't spread before he stepped off the train. Green grass sped by, alongside softly mooing cows and warm summer sun. They spoke of peace that wasn't broken by Voldemort's reign. Harry wanted that peace, that calm.

"Yes, I am. I fought Voldemort, I battled many other wizards and lost many friends. But now I'm just a professor. Or, if you wish, I can just be Mr. Harry. Or Mr. Potter."

He peered at Alois, who's whole face had fallen considerably. Was he as embarrassed as Harry?

"Mr. Potter, why are you talking to me? There are better students to talk to."

His chin had lowered so much that he was talking against the collar of his tee shirt. It hurt Harry's very heart. "No, there is no student I would rather be talking to right now, Alois, so raise your head." In the gentlest of voices, he said, "tell me some things about you. What do you like to do?"

Clearly not sure what to do, Alois clamped his mouth shut. Harry could see that with this one, he either got the whole story or no story. "If you prefer to sit in silence, that's fine. But I'm interested in getting to know you."

Alois whispered something indistinguishable.

"What was that?"

"I like... Muggle history."

He said "muggle" like it was a bad word, and Harry instantly thought of Malfoy's family. It amused Harry that something so boring like Muggle History was interesting to a little wizard.

"I like muggle history too. What's your favorite section?"

The two ended up discussing Serial Killers, and how many of them were just misplaced wizards with anger issues and no proper training. Their conversation lasted the rest of the ride.

When they finally pulled in, Hagrid's booming voice could be heard all the way through the walls of their carriage.

"FIRS' YERS! ALL THE FIRS' YERS FOLLOW ME!"

Stood up to stretch and pulled down his luggage from above his head. Alois hasn't come in with anything except his pasty and Harry assumed that his trunk was already inside.

"Well, c'mon then. The rest of your life starts today, Alois."

He smiled at his new friend and led him out into the dark pavement. First years always rode the boats, and Harry wanted Alois to get the experience before all they had left were Thestrals.

On the Tarmac, Hagrid saw Harry for the first time since the war had ended. His eyes grew even more massive. Harry, however, was not going to let Hagrid make a scene. It wasn't a complete secret that Harry was on the train, but it was a little secretive that he was teaching DADA. He rushed to Hagrid's side.

"Keep your voice down, Hagrid. I will explain later on why I'm here. This is Alois," he said, pointing down to the frightened blond child. "He's a first year. Keep him safe, don't let him drown. I have to go up to McGonagll's office."

All Hagrid could do was whisper, "Harry!" With a trickle of tears. Harry smiled brightly.

He made a good decision. 


	2. Chapter 2

The walk to Dumble- McGonagall's office was much longer than he remembered. The statue in front was still there, but seemed older, sadder, and gleamed less brightly. The entire castle was slightly diminished. Maybe it was actually Harry, and the magic of the castle was less prominent because he was an adult. He had forgotten to ask for the password before leaving, but had a strange feeling that someone hadn't changed it.

"Lemon drop." he said to the phoenix statue, holding his breath. It, in turn, bowed towards him and began to spin upwards with a spiral staircase. How lucky he was that McGonagall had a heart.

When he reached the top, Harry was stunned to find every other teacher crammed inside. Like a child, he felt like he had walked into something he was not supposed to see.

But there she was, his mentor and friend. "Mr. Potter! Glad you could make it!"

He chuckled at the Witch in dark green. Her grey hair was almost white nowadays, and tuffed out in unexpected places. Minerva McGonagall was both beautiful and severe. It would be a wonderful year, he could feel it.

At his name, other teachers turned around. Professor Flitwick alone had a lovely reaction, dropping his wand in surprise. Professor Sprout smiled delicately, and others murmured in surprise. It was clear that not everyone had been informed of Harry's Position.

"Yes, your attention back up here. Mr. Potter is going to fill the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher. Now, hold on." She tried to continue, not having the dissent. "Listen to me. We are all aware that Mr. Potter did not finish his Seventh Year, because he was aiding our country and our way of life in a much more significant way. His experience alone is enough to earn a position. He himself brought up his lack of credentials, and they dismissed him immediately. This is not a democracy, and it is not a question. I've brought you all together so that Mr. Potter has a foundation on which he can ask questions. Is there any teacher that wishes to be his mentor?"

"I WILL."

Harry spun at Hagrid's booming voice, incredibly warmed at the reaction. All the other teachers, save McGonagall, recoiled. She smiled ever so slightly, and then looked back at the rest of the staff. "Any others?"

"I will, also."

Firenze appeared from the very back of the small crowd, his voice soft but caked in sadness. He bowed low to Harry, who bowed in earnest return. McGonagall turned back to the teachers, a few of whom raised their hands. They were all willing to help him if need be with lesson planning and discipline.

"Thank you, everyone. Now… Before we go down to the sorting, there are a few things I would like to discuss. This last year has been detrimental to so many families. The Hogwart's name, although not tarnished, has diminished in quality. Voldemort has taken some of the love and warmth out of this place. I need each and every one of you to keep hope alive. There are students here who have lost family. Some have come from dark wizarding families and are looking for redemption. We have students that are repeating years, so they don't miss out on precious education. Discrimination will end in termination. Unfair discipline will end in termination. This school has been through some horrific times and terrible years. Today, we bring it back."

All eyes were on the headmistress, amazed at her simultaneous severity and kindness. Harry imagined she would have made a very good grandmother.

"Now, I welcome you to a new year alongside a few new teachers. New teachers, please step this way. Yes." She adjusted the five new teachers side by side. A sharp looking gentleman in a simple black cloak stepped forward first. "This is Marcus Bentley, our new Muggle Studies professor. Please treat him well."

He looked very nice, but maybe a little too dangerous around the eyes. Harry smiled at him just the same, and was rewarded with a small smile back.

"Arista Prat, Ancient Runes."

The woman was statuesque and rather beautiful with high cheekbones and long, dark hair. She oozed intrigue, and every single male in the room became hot under the collar almost immediately. At Harry's side, Minerva whispered, "That'll make them take Runes."

Harry had to inhale his giggle.

The next teacher was John Mercer (Taking over for professor Binns in Wizarding History), whose beard and halloween sweater made everyone a little uncomfortable. The ginger in his hair almost resembled a Weasley, and unlike the others, he made a speech. "Hey! You all can just call me Mercer. I'm pretty chill." He said, in a grating American accent. "I came over here from the states in april when you all were having your little Voldemort issue. Super excited to work here, but, um… your ghosts really freak me out. Are they here all the time?"

Minerva, who had clearly spent an extended amount of time with the yank, rubbed her eyes. "Mr. Mercer, they are the Hogwart's Ghosts. Get used to them or get out."

He chuckled and threw his hands into the front of his sweater, where a giant pocket lay.

"Next, we have Eris Kriptke." McGonagall motioned a sweet-looking teacher with brown hair and a very sensible dark green cloak. Her pale skin was luminous and dewy, like a doe. She smiled and curtsied a little. "Eris is going to be a floor guard. I will consider her a teacher, the same way I treat Filch." Saying his name, everyone looked around for the dependable Grinch. He didn't appear. "Maybe better than I treat Filch then."

Everyone laughed a little.

The last person on the list was Harry, who had already been introduced. McGonagall smiled at her small staff and said, in the bravest way she could, "I hope we have a lovely year."

The crowd dispersed on the way to Dumbledor- McGonagall's elevator. Harry moved to leave but McGonagall grabbed his arm. "Mr. Potter, would you stay?"

Considering there wasn't much time before the sorting and the students had been without chaperones for the last ten minutes, Harry was at a loss for what she could want. He agreed of course, and moved back towards Dumbl- her desk with concern. "What is it, Professor?"

"It's Minerva now. I'm sure you're nervous, and confused why I brought you on."

"You brought me on?" he asked. "I thought it was a school board decision."

She smiled. "Oh, it was. But I recomended you, at least for this year. I know your plans have always been to follow in the footsteps of James and become an auror."

"Yes, of course."

"I want that for you, Harry. But I also believe there is some protection within these walls that will end up being useful later. Have you told Weasley or Granger?"

"About this? No. But Mrs. Weasley knows."

"That's fine. Are you keeping it from Granger and Weasley because they won't understand the deviation from your original plan?" 

Right on the money. "Yes."

"Well, take my advice and tell them. They're more than welcome to stay at the castle whenever they feel like, but I know that this is a hard place to return to."

He didn't intend to say anything. He honestly was not going to breathe a word, but at the last moment…

"Hermione is depressed, and Ron is trying to help the rest of his family cope with Fred's… passing. They can't leave right now. I was actually excited to come because the Burrow is a hard place to be."

"I can imagine." she said with little surprise. "Arthur Weasley filled out the form for Muggle Studies professor."

It was both shocking and understandable. "We all get over grief differently."

"Indeed. Also, unrelated note… Draco Malfoy is here as a seventh year."

There was the moment.

Harry's whole body became rigid with angst, confusion, and a little rage. Malfoy?

"But… Malfoy took his seventh year."

"Mr. Malfoy was employed by the Carrows as, pardon my appalling language, a 'Fuck-Boy'."

The tension from the day, the sadness of leaving his friends and the long, LONG train ride all culminated in one hilarious moment. Harry Potter burst out laughing.

"PROFESSOR, YOU CAN'T SAY FUCK-BOY."

"I shouldn't, but I can. He was under the Carrow's wing, and couldn't leave the position without risking his safety and the safety of the younger students he protected on a daily basis. Although you may have had some definite misgivings in the past, Draco Malfoy saved many lives last year and deserves a second chance. That being said, please be the bigger man and do not jeopardize your job for revenge. Are we understood?"

"Definitely."

"Good. You're young, Harry, but you've fought for much more than seven billion others in such a small lifespan. Make James proud."

The severe sweetness got to him. Before leaving, he rushed up and pecked the woman on her cheek. She patted his face darkly. "Alright, but no more affection. Go on, see the sorting."

Harry didn't need to be told twice.

Rushing down the steps, through two corridors to the great hall, Harry saw a tiny parade of first years lining up near the podium in alphabetical order. Alois, the only white-blond, stood near the very middle. He had to have a last name, then.

"Anderson, Eliza!" Called Flitwick from the teacher's table. A tiny blonde girl with a little clip on bow ran full speed to the sorting hat. One full second later, it pronounced her "RAVENCLAW!", much to her dismay.

The process was much faster than in past years, simply from fewer students. Alois looked nervous as the sorting cap touched "King, Miriam" (Gryffindor), and then…

"Lestrange, Alois!"

Harry couldn't believe it.

He hadn't yet moved up to his place in the Great Hall, and now he never wanted to. Alois's white hair. His voice. Of course he was related to Malfoy. But related to Bellatrix? Even worse!

"We're not related. Not by blood, anyways."

Harry spun around, to see Malfoy leaning against the door in a suit. His appearance hit a chord within Harry that was almost sexual. The pervasive nature of their hateful relationship fell down for one second as Alois sat under the sorting hat. They both watched as the boy sat under the hat for more than 10 seconds, fear in his clenched eyes. Finally, after an eternity the hat screamed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Malfoy scoffed lightly. "Told you. Not related."

Malfoy turned to leave, but not before Harry grabbed his arm. "Wait!"

"Sod off, Potter."

"It's Professor, now."

That made Malfoy stop. He turned slowly, as not to wake the beast. "Professor?"

"Of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The title felt nice in Harry's throat and he could already tell it would be quite an issue eventually.

"Well then, congratulations, Professor. I hope you last longer than all the others."

He moved to shake Harry's hand, and the way his jacket shuddered dusted a little of his scent onto Harry. Both paused, Harry because of the attractive way his enemy smelled and Malfoy because his hand was extended. Harry eventually got the notice but only shook once. "Thank you, but it's only a year long position."

"I don't care."

"I know."

They parted ways almost immediately, Harry heading towards the feast and Malfoy wherever. As a teacher he should have been curious, but he had followed Malfoy enough over the years

He rushed into his seat just as the introductions of staff were beginning. His name was last on the roster and had the biggest reaction. Harry Potter? An 18 year old? He couldn't be a teacher! Even Tom Riddle had tried to get a position in Hogwarts at twenty and was passed over because of his age. And because he had slaughtered his family members and split his soul apart multiple times. But the youth portion was most important.

"Mr. Potter will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. We are well aware of his age, and we understand some of you once befriended him. As he is now on staff, there is a level of discretion that must be taken on. Additionally, he is the head of house for Gryffindor. I think you'll find him equally engaging and authoritative." She smiled at Harry and then the rest of the students. "Before we eat, I'd like to discuss a few rules. Number one: The forbidden forest is FORBIDDEN to first, second and third years. Fourth years and up may only use it with a teacher present. The excuses of "my pet is in there", "I lost an item of value and was looking for it", and "I saw a unicorn", however valid the claim, are not enough to avoid consequences. If for some reason you require access and you are older than fourth year, you may ask Hagrid to retrieve your item respectively. If you are below fourth year, come to myself or another teacher. These are non negotiables and will be handled severely.

"Lastly, Draco Malfoy is interning as my replacement for Transfigurations, which I still teach. Because of this transitional period, transfigurations is no longer required past OWLs, unless your action path for NEWTs begets it. Please understand that if you are taking Transfigurations in NEWT levels, the information will be mostly self taught with little lesson planning. Thank you all for your cooperation and your patience. Let's eat!"

With a clap, all the food rose beautifully onto the tables. It was an even more gorgeous sight from above. In addition to being less cramped, the teacher's table had firewhiskey and mead. Harry opted for pumpkin juice instead. He listened to the laughter and peace of his colleagues and friends, amazed at how much had resumed despite the last few months of death. The food was delicious, and the sky was divine.

But like all things, the good had to come to an end.


	3. Chapter 3

The Gryffindor towers were much larger than Harry originally thought. This was because he had only ever been to his section with his four roommates. As far as students went, it was usually ten per year, per house. So five first year boys in Gryffindor, and five ladies. Usually.

Thinking he was back in his seventh year for a moments, he climbed the stairs for his old room. Wouldn't you know it, there were students inside.

He closed the door and descended, trying to figure out where he had seen teachers in the past. Did they have bedrooms in their offices? Where were they? Did teachers sleep? He would have to remember where McGonagall slept, because she was the old head of Gryffindor. Was it in the ladies dormitory? Did she share a bed with the rest?

Inside the common room, a few elder students were scattered around. Since he had missed his entire seventh year, they were mostly students he has not interacted with. They recognized Harry, however, and tried to avoid eye contact. No help there.

In a flit of whimsy, Harry decided to ask a few of the paintings outside the common room if they knew. Since they were so old, they'd have to know SOMETHING.

"Excuse me." He asked the portrait where the Fat Lady usually laid. "Is anyone here?"

The character in question crept across paintings with purpose. "Is that Harry Potter?"

She knew his name! "Yes, I'm Harry."

"Well, by gods. You don't need the password then."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not here about that. I was wondering... Where do the teachers sleep?"

"How should I know?" She asked, her voice suddenly huskier.

Harry ran a hand through his messy hair with frustration. "I don't know. I don't fucking know."

"Oh, don't be a little bitch."

It wasn't the fat lady. It was Malfoy, creeping up behind him like a poltergeist.

"Excuse me?"

Malfoy was in some sort of PJ thing, with striped silk pants and an extra large Bad Company tee shirt. His wand was clenched mercilessly in tired fingers, and his hair was FINALLY a mess. It served him right to look so disheveled.

"McGonagall said you were never given a room."

Of course. "Oh."

"So, I am graciously lending you my space tonight."

Harry almost dropped his wand in surprise. The Fat Lady made a horrible noise.

"You want to house me?"

Malfoy smiled, the devilish smirk made worse by candle light. "I'd rather house you and have you under my nose than out here, planning my death."

Sound logic. "Alright. Lead the way."

It struck Harry as odd that Malfoy was suddenly so damn polite. There were several factors that helped, of course. Malfoy had done some terrible things before the war, but never because he wanted to. Honestly, he had been raised to believe Voldemort a god, and muggle-borns second class citizens. It didn't excuse Malfoy's choices, but he could have been a lot of places and instead he chose teaching. That had to count for something.

"You're staring a hole into my head, Potter."

He couldn't help it. Malfoy's perfectly imperfect hair was oddly distracting. "I'm not trying to."

"So you ARE looking at me. Interesting."

"What? You're in front of me. Of course I'm looking at you."

Malfoy had five or six inches on Harry, so his spin was close to terrifying. The blond's chest almost caressed Harry's face with how quickly he turned. "Still a Seeker, huh?"

"A what?"

"Nevermind. Look, if you see the stairwell for the seventh floor, tell me. It keeps moving."

Together they searched out the seventh floor staircase. It had a history of moving around, causing problems and many late students. This time was understandable, as it had to be repaired after the battle. They finally found it around the DADA room, on the ground floor. It increased in size to take them all the way up.

"Seventh floor... Are you sleeping in the room of requirement?"

Malfoy shrugged indifferently, meaning yes. But why there?

"The staff lofts have all been taken. Student dorms are full in Slytherin. And my room is new every night. I like the spontaneity."

It was more personal information then Harry had ever been given by Malfoy ever. He liked spontaneity and sarcasm. That was all Harry knew about the bloke he considered his Arch Nemesis.

Silence issued after that. It bothered Harry, the same way unanswered questions did. In a soft voice he asked. "In the interest of aquantaince-ship, how is Alois related to you?"

"Aunt Bella's husband's sister is his mother. Lennox."

"So he's your cousin, once removed?"

"Something like that. Halfblood. My family took him in after Aunt Lennox died."

The amazing thing was that Harry didn't need any clarification on family members. Pureblood wizards all intermarried and knew each other. He had never heard of Lennox, however.

Almost reading his mind, Malfoy shook his head. "She married a muggle. Completely ostracized after that. Alois was accepted because he had no one else."

"That's horrible."

"I'm sorry to say that my father was not gracious towards him either. Treated him like a burden. A scab on the family name. As if my father wasn't already enough of a scab."

The bitterness took a hold of Harry and he finally had a moment of clarity. Malfoy didn't want to be evil. What his father did or didn't do was not his decision. He had to follow Voldemort's orders or die. How had Harry not seen it before?

"You know, Malfoy, you aren't a terrible human being."

Malfoy stopped, turned, and glared at Harry with disgust. "Don't become soft on me. You're still my enemy."

But the smile was tiny and unmistakable.

Once on top, they walked to the very end of the hallway, looking for a place to sleep. Sleep sleep sleep. I require a place to sleep, Harry thought. They paced for a few minutes before the wall cracked and shifted.

When the last brick fell into place, Harry threw the door open, exhausted. He did not expect what he found.

There was a single bed, huge and gorgeous, covered in a thick shag blanket and rose petals. Malfoy shrieked, "WHAT THE HELL, POTTER."

"DON'T LOOK AT ME, I DIDN'T ASK FOR A BROTHEL."

"SHUT IT SHUT IT OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SHUT THE DOOR."

They both tore back out the door, shutting it and rethinking, "I require a place to sleep ALONE."

The door shifted some, and during its shift Malfoy fired dirty looks in Harry's direction. "I will never get that image out of my mind. It looked like Umbridge was planning on staying there."

Harry retched. "Now I can't get THAT image out of _my_ mind."

"Oh, hush up. It's done changing."

The boys were significantly more cautious as they slid the door open. Inside looked like an extremely large dormitory. Each side got a bed and a desk, a dresser and several nick-nacks. It wasn't as lovely as his four-poster, but not as horrible as _sharing a rose petal covered bed with his sworn enemy._ The room itself had very little light, save a large fireplace at the very end. It roared wonderfully, toasting the weary boys.

"This isn't the worst place to be." Malfoy mumbled, claiming the left side immediately. "Being at home is worse."

"I'll say." Harry whispered, removing his shirt.

That freaked Malfoy out. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting into my Pajamas. Why?"

"You can switch them without taking anything off, you know."

"I know that, but I'm not going to. It doesn't matter. I have nothing to hide."

Why was Malfoy so damn embarrassed? Men walked around shirtless ALL the time. Harry finished taking off the shirt, snapped his fingers for his trunk and found a wrinkled white tee. Lovely. His PJ bottoms had Yorkie puppies on them, but Harry didn't very much care. He felt safe in them, which he needed.

Once both he and Malfoy were settled into bed, the fire died down by itself to a nice, ember glow. It glinted off of the blond's hair and his pale cheek. Harry stared at him too long, trying to figure out what horrible circumstances had made it okay for him to fall asleep next to his enemy. When he couldn't decide, sleep won.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Hours passed. Harry knew hours had passed because the fire had produced its own logs. He woke up to muffled shouting and kicking, expecting to see someone standing over Malfoy's bed. Instead he saw Malfoy himself, having one of the worst nightmares Harry had ever seen. His face was covered in dry tear tracks, and the furious whimpers kept coming.

"Stop... Stop... No..."

There was such a crisis in the circumstances. If Harry woke Malfoy up to stop the nightmares, Malfoy would be angry. He would probably throw Harry to the ground and protest that he didn't need any help. If Harry didn't help, though, he would never get back to sleep.

The need for sleep won out.

He approached Malfoy's bed quietly, trying to be braver than he felt. He took Malfoy's hand in his, immediately shutting up the blonde. His hand was frozen, but not clammy. He pushed it under the covers but kept his hold. For a few minutes he stayed like that, letting the poor boy's breathing even out and return to normal. Once Malfoy was calm, Harry tried to remove his hand.

"Don't go."

It was so soft, Harry swore he could have imagined it. Then again, looking at Malfoy's tear-streaked face, he probably needed comfort. He had a decision to make: keep Malfoy calm, or sleep. What sort of shit choices were those?

"Move over." He grumbled, pushing the lightly sleeping Malfoy to the inside. He scooted, the bed extending just a little bit. Another pillow popped up. "No thank you, bed. I got this." He whispered to the sentient room and it's minions.

Instead of letting Draco Malfoy, his long-standing enemy and prick lose sleep, Harry held his hand for several hours. He dozed on and off the whole time, sometimes waking up and imagining Malfoy thanking him.

It was nice.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Harry woke up in his own bed, fingers cramped like had written a meter's worth of essays. The sun was just peaking, so it was still early. In the other bed, Malfoy laid silently. Sleep had gotten him.

Harry moved over to the tiny bathroom to relieve himself and freshen up. Most wizards hated the time bathing took and preferred freshening charms, but not Harry. Plus, it was early and breakfast wouldn't be served yet.

A large shower appeared in the corner, extending into his unused closet. Nice. The shower had a large waterfall head, and side jets. A whole ton of different shampoos and soaps materialized on the rack. Bliss was about to happen.

Harry stripped and jumped into the huge shower, trying all the different buttons. The side jets were almost painful with the scars on his back, but the waterfall head felt amazing. He sat under the water for far too long, enjoying the steam and pressure. He looked for shampoo close to his regular stuff. They had pine and forest scents, cool rivers and clear blue skies. He tried something called "midwinter storm" which turned his shower ice cold and his skin blue. Smelled amazing, however.

After showering and once again warm, Harry looked for his teaching robes to go over the sweater vest he was trying out. Malfoy woke up as he tied his tie. "Why do you look like a middle aged muggle?"

"I'm going for adult."

"Well, you're failing."

"Shut up."

Their banter wasn't angry, or angsty, or even edgy. It was just them, being them. The thought made Harry smile ever so slightly on his way down to breakfast.

Students stopped eating and reading to stare at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. They whispered to each other in loud, teenage voices, "he's too young to be a teacher."

It was true. Even in a sweater vest, Harry felt young and short and toddler-like. His lesson plan felt stupid and reminiscent of every teacher he had ever had. The day would fail epically.

Looking around for a place to sit, Harry noticed a blonde boy in the corner of the Gryffindor table, looking thoroughly distraught.

"Alois. What's wrong?"

Alois looked up at Harry with shining tears in his eyes. "Mr. Potter! I failed my mum."

Indeed, he hadn't made it to Slytherin. It was sad, but didn't explain the fact that he was all alone on the first day of school. Harry sat down, determined to make him feel better. "You got in Gryffindor, yeah?"

"Yeah." He sniffed.

"Then why are you crying? Gryffindor is an exclusive house. Only brave people can get in."

Alois's eyes widened. "You HAVE to be brave? I thought that was just the motto."

"No. The sorting hat takes bravery VERY seriously. If you're brave, you HAVE to be put in Gryffindor no matter what your family line says. Like my godfather, Sirius."

That earned Alois a sniff. "Mum liked Sirius. She said he was cocky."

"He was." Harry laughed. "Cocky and very, very brave. He was supposed to be in Slytherin, like all of your family. He was put in Gryffindor because it was a better fit for someone as strong as him."

That made Alois pause and smile. "I suppose you're right."

"I am right, of course. I'm a teacher."

The two boys laughed and joked as they ate breakfast. Their fun inspired several others to come over and talk with Harry, asking him about classes and such. Once a few students talked with him, the tension left. Now all that was left was first day impressions and his lesson.

He would just have to be brave. 


	4. Chapter 4

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom famously moved around each year. Sometimes it would take place in a side hall, or the dungeon. A light-filled empty classroom. A tower. It changed every year to give students new experiences.

This year boasted something no other year has been able to accomplish: Harry had permission to use the chamber of secrets as a classroom.

This was for two reasons. His class, while working on defense spells, needed a little bit of history and expose. The chamber had so many tunnels and crevices, it was brimming with Founder's magic. The students would flourish if they could see the basilisk and learn about magic laws. It was also protected by one of the oldest languages and would be a safe place to hide if ever the castle was stormed again.

Although Harry had lost his ability to innately understand parseltongue after Voldemort's death, he remembered key words and phrases. "Open", "close", "kill". Harry was not a fan of the language, but it would be handy for students to know a little bit.

He met with his first hour students in an empty classroom off Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. One by one the witches and wizards slid in, looking completely terrified. They were first years from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Harry recognized a few faces from the sorting.

"Hello, good morning, good morning, hello! Yes, alright."

Once the last eleven year old had crossed the threshold, he shut the door with a flick and let them shuffle into desks. They were silent, still scared from first day nerves. He could tell muggle-borns from half-bloods, because muggle-borns had panic faces when looking at the wall paintings and half-bloods were used to at least a little magic at home.

He strutted to the front of the classroom and began writing his name on the board. Then he turned. "Hello, students. My name is Professor H. Potter. I hope you all got here alright."

He examined the tiny faces, amazed at how frightened they still seemed. Like Harry was going to open his mouth and swallow students whole.

"I'm going to do roll call first, get to know you a little bit and then we'll jump right into our first lesson. Alright?"

They nodded and mumbled in agreement.

"Anderson, Eliza?"

"Here, professor."

"Cambrell, Rory?"

"Present."

He went through the roster, marking down one student in the infirmary. Then he began.

"Was everyone able to read at least the first few chapters of Defensive Magic?"

Most students nodded firmly. A girl in the far back shook her head and raised her hand. "I wasn't allowed to open my books."

Harry understood that. She was obviously a muggle-born, the way she stared at the skeleton in the corner. It was a serious disadvantage that she hadn't been able to look anything over, however, and Harry would need to fix it.

"That's okay. I wasn't allowed to practice magic in the house I grew up in either. I expect you to work very hard in class then, and learn as much as you can during the school year. Can you do that?"

She nodded politely.

"Great. Now, let's explain to miss Burke the first two chapters of Defensive Magic. What is the first rule?"

A chubby boy in the front row raised his hand. "If you raise your wand first, it isn't defensive."

"Very good." Harry said happily. "Five points to Ravenclaw. Yes, defense is about protecting yourself. Offense protects others by destroying the enemy before he can become a problem. If I decided to attack a troll, what would it be?"

"Offense." They said together. Harry smiled deeper.

"Lovely. And if that troll attacked me?"

The class was a little louder this time. "Defense!"

"Perfect. Ten points to both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Do you have any questions about the chapter?"

A slim blonde girl in the middle raised a shaky hand. "Yes, Miss Layton?"

"It didn't give us any spells to practice in the first chapter."

"Ah; that's because the first chapter is usually read at home, and magic is banned outside of school until you turn seventeen. But did any of you practice on the train?"

Three people raised their hands. Harry applauded. "Good! Let's see what you learned. You first, Mr. Dent."

Thomas Dent stood up, cleared his throat and drew his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa."

The paper on his desk rose an inch or so before dropping. Harry had to bite back a laugh.

"Very close. The paper knew what you wanted, and started to go. But the reason it didn't rise very far is your pronunciation. Without your wand, please say with me "win-gar-di-um Le-vi-O-sa."

All the students chanted together, "wingardium Leviosa" until Harry was satisfied. He called on random students to pronounce it for him.

"Miss Layton!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Five points! Miss Anderson!"

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Five points! Perfect. I feel confident in all of you now. So let's try it. I have a box of feathers in the back. You may partner up and practice raising the feathers."

All of the students at once, excited that Harry was proud of them, ran to the box of feathers and rooted around. They brought them back and began shouting "Wingardium Leviosa" over and over again.

Harry was satisfied. It wasn't actually a first year charm, it was second year. Harry allowed them to get the second year book and strategically teach them slightly older magic to get a feel for what they would be up against. He would never teach them any curses, just light hexes later into the year. The first lesson was just a taste. Something to get them excited about learning.

When Harry was satisfied that every student could lift a feather, they tried marbles and eventually books. It was amazing how contrasted their faces were. Every single student suddenly knew their own power, and that school would help it grow. For the last few minutes of class they began reading chapter three out loud. It was on disarming spells, easy stuff like "expelliarmus." Spells that Harry had wished were taught in first year. Maybe his run in with Quirell would have been less messy had he known a few disarming spells.

Before they left, he closed the book. "Thank you, students, for your willingness to learn. This class will not just be defensive skills, you'll also learn about magical creatures, ailments, and some light history. There will be tougher days than others, but the work will be fair and understandable. If you need someone to talk to or help on the work, please come and see me. For tonight, your homework will be a paragraph on chapter three and a small drawing of how to hold your wand. If you wish to practice, ask an older student to help you. That's all. Ravenclaws are in potions with Slytherin, Hufflepuffs are in charms. Off you go!"

He smiled defeatedly at all the students on their way out, very happy. He was extremely nervous before, but handled eleven year olds expertly. It would be an okay day.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"I'll say, Mr. Potter, that your first year class is doing marvelous."

Harry beamed at McGonagall. Two periods had passed and now he was struggling to make a lesson plan for fourth years. Just remember the DA. What did you teach in the DA? He said to himself. McGonagall sat in front of him, holding out a tin of biscuits. "I don't think there was a single troublemaker in the whole bunch. They told me about your lifting lesson."

"Yes. I know it's usually taught in transfigurations, but-"

She held up her hand. "It's quite alright. You trusted that with enough support they could do tackle a second year spell on their first day, and they did. Your emphasis on pronunciation made my job much easier."

Harry took a biscuit. "I'm glad. I just wished that I had known a bit more my first year. Quirell was occupied, so most of his lessons were on spotting vampires."

She snorted a proper lady snort. "I do remember. Albus couldn't find a single other person to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. He didn't know that he-who-should-not-be... Oh hell, Voldemort, was on the back of his head. Albus would have had something to say about THAT."

"I can imagine."

"But you seem to be doing very well, Mr. Potter. Are you enjoying yourself?"

Was he? Harry liked the students, and he liked using his knowledge to help others. The students, knowing who he was, were fairly respectful. No Malfoys or fellow Potters around.

"As long as no students are Malfoy or Weasley quality, I should be fine."

"Ha! We should be so lucky."

She left quietly, the biscuit tin still sitting on his desk. He ate another, flipping through Fantastic Beasts and scribbling notes as quickly as possible. He wanted to cover Dragons with his fourth years, the history and uses. For these lessons, he would stick with the classroom. In two or so classes they would all move down to the chamber of secrets. The classroom work, papers and essays, were easiest to do in the classroom light.

Dragons required care. He remembered little Norbert, who had been a magical eduction his first year. Hagrid fed the baby dragon chicken-blood and brandy for the first few weeks, and then brought her meat after that. He would have to send an owl to Charlie, see if he had any tips.

The door slipped open and Malfoy strutted in. His hair was slicked back per usual. Harry dropped his pen in surprise. "What wrong?"

Malfoy's eyes bugged out. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you don't usually come to me unless there's no other choice."

"Oh. I just wanted to see how your first day was. But if I'm not wanted..."

He turned to leave, but Harry took a hold of his arm. "No, wait!"

Malfoy stiffened, feeling Harry's hand on his skin. The sleeves on the button up he wore were rolled up to his elbow, so Harry's warm hand had no buffer. Both of them realized that however innocent the touch, there was a level of intimacy to it.

"Sorry. Were you worried about me?"

Malfoy relaxed as Harry dropped his hand and sat back at his desk, dragons forgotten.

"I wasn't worried, but I've been in class with you, Potter, and I know how stupid you are sometimes." He ran a hand through his blond hair. "I just wanted to see if you were crying yet."

Harry smiled slightly. "Not yet, but thank you for that."

"My pleasure."

In an obvious moment of whim, Malfoy sat on a front row desk and stared at Harry. "Don't you want to know how my first day was?"

Now it was getting weird. "I don't know, Malfoy. How was your day?"

"I taught three transfiguration classes. It's nice to teach students that don't hate each other yet."

He was talking about them, and the thought made Harry smile. "McGonagall was here earlier, and she said roughly the same thing. But I have to ask... What made you decide to stay?"

"You mean, instead of moving on to a ministry job or a temp job? I can't get one. I'm here on a student teacher license. Because of what I had to do, and who my father is, I can't get work anywhere other than Hogwarts or under the table stuff." He sighed. "You don't know what that's like. You're a hero."

That was true, but, "don't you remember fifth year, right after Cedric passed? When I tried to warn everyone that Voldemort had returned and I became the laughing stock? Well, that's what it was like. Only I'm sure you're feeling it on a grander scale."

"I'll say. Anyways, just wanted to see if you were panicked yet. McGonagall said you did pretty well. Good going, Potter."

He patted Harry's arm kindly, before slipping out the classroom. The meeting was brief but made Harry think a lot more than he wanted to.

Draco Malfoy was... Friendly.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the week, Harry was a complete mess.

The first lesson had given him such a sweet start that he became far too confident in his troop of first years. They were not the brightest students, although to their credit he was not the most advance-educated professor. His second years were almost as terrible at the firsts, since their own education had been atrociously savaged by the Carrows. Every one of them knew all three unforgivable curses, but not a single one could do a simple mending charm. Less a defense against the dark arts than an education on them. Harry worried, constantly and visibly.

Third years were arseholes, he decided. All of them collectively. Fourths had a general understanding that he was THE Harry Potter and therefore demanded a certain respect. They remembered him as a Quidditch captain, a prefect-level student who had been so close to Dumbledore. The fifth years were almost the same. The only difference with the Fifth years was that they had O.W.L's they could not miss… And Harry was truly under qualified to teach them.

"Where is Hermione when you need her…?" Harry grumbled to himself over his lesson plan. His own third year had been one of the best, but that was because Lupin had taken Harry under his wing. Just the thought of his dear friend made him feel more emotionally unstable than he had felt at his own liberation from the Dursley's. He blinked back tears over his many feet of parchment.

The Gryffindor Common room was the only place Harry could ever concentrate and get work done. At first it had been pretty off-putting to the students- after all, Harry was a member of the staff- but he really didn't bother them if they didn't bother him. For six years he had memorized countless spells and charms, written vast amounts of essays and graphed a myriad of charts. The couch in front of the fire was truly his space. Harry just sometimes wished he had the friends to complete it. Teaching was a lonely ordeal.

"Good God, why do you hang out here?" Draco groaned from a plushy chair behind him. "You could literally be anywhere else in the castle right now. I mean, don't you have an _office_?"

"You know I do. You're not supposed to be here either, Malfoy."

Draco groaned. "Don't be a prat, Potter."

"Professor."

"Lick my knickers."

Harry chuckled. It was in no way the sort of begrudging friendship he was used to, but the fact that Draco made an effort to even speak to Harry meant something. It had to. "No, thank you. I have a lot to do. I don't think I could handle six lesson plans _and_ your unders."

Draco sighed. He hadn't seemed to attract too many friends himself, but that was more because he didn't try. There were quite a few Slytherins who looked to emulate him, but he would never acknowledge it. Harry had asked him quite pointedly if he was just trying to remain a low-suspicion individual or if he disagreed with his former self, the self they remembered. Draco had made a small noise in his throat with eyes as wide as dinner plates and coughed, "both." It signified something important, that much was for sure. Draco Malfoy was slowly but surely turning himself around.

"I think we should do something. Go down to the Three Broomsticks. Take a walk." Draco murmured from behind. "It's still quite light out."

Harry practically dropped his quill. "You want to do _what_?"

"Take a walk. Outside. Fresh air. When was the last time you actually got to sniff something other than children?"

It took Harry a moment. "Actually- when I arrived on the train."

There was no response, just mild shuffling and chair squeaking. Draco appeared in front of him, eyes crosser than Harry had ever seen and his hair an insane mop.

"So a week. Yes, put down your lesson plan, you degenerate. We were not born to waste our lives inside. Trust me."

"What- now?"

"Yes, now. Let's go _Professor_. I have a lesson to plan too, but it can wait until I'm trashed."

"You have no respect for the job." Harry critiqued. "Drunk plans are never good."

"Snape's were."

Harry practically shot up. "Excuse me?"

Draco slid next to him, lowering his voice a little so the fourth years playing Jenga wouldn't listen in. "Snape was constantly smashed. Drank from a bottomless flask. That's the real reason Dumbledore kept him on Potions duty- he didn't want Snape firing hexes near students."

"How in the seven rings of hell do you know that?"

Draco shrugged adorably, letting the dying sunlight drench his white hair in gold. "Snape trusted me. He told me about his obsession with your mother when I was barely thirteen. I think he knew he'd die early and just wanted someone other than the Dark Lord and Dumbledore to know."

"Great." Harry mumbled. "Snape gave you a snippet of information about my own mother that I'd have to wait four years to get."

"He was drunk, I promise you. Probably didn't know what he was saying."

What a weird turn of events. Draco had become his friend, Snape was a distant (and permanently drunk) memory, and Harry was the one who actually wanted to get stuff done. If someone had told him they predicted exactly that two years prior, he would have thought them confunded. Maybe Harry was confunded.

"Anyways. You ready to go?"

Harry looked down at his several feet of notes on Bogarts and Harpies and Werewolves. Yeah, he most certainly could go for a drink.

"Sure. Give me a few minutes to wrap up here."

XXXXXXxxxxxXXXXXX

They walked down like friends, chatting about mutual students.

"I hate Chester Jones more than my own father." Draco grumbled. "He does nothing. I'd give him detention, except then he wouldn't ever leave my presence."

"That's a terrible reason. You're capable of being an unrelenting arsehole. Why not show them THAT side?"

Draco nudged him with one shoulder. "Don't be a fucking princess."

Harry snorted. He deserved that.

"I think I like Alois the most of all my first years. He's bold, the way we were. Although the fact that you challenged Ron and I do a wizard duel-"

"-Is scary to think about? Don't I know it. I've been thinking of little else since I started. They're all so young… So innocent…"

As Draco drifted off, Harry was reminded of their first interaction within Madame Malkin's. How seductive a friendship with the white-haired boy had been for just a moment. How struck Harry was initially.

Yes, Harry hated Malfoy. But had he always, or had he learned to hate him? Was there a turning moment? Probably the time with the rememberal, but that was just because of Harry's stupid hero complex. What would Hogwarts have been like with Draco around, building him up instead of tearing him down? Harry smiled just a little at the thought of a considerate and helpful Draco.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Harry realized far too late that his mouth hung open, beaming into the white-haired wonder's face. He closed it sheepishly. "Just thinking, is all."

"Well, get a better thinking face. God." Malfoy pulled away with disgust. Harry couldn't help but notice the slight sneer, something unique to interactions with Harry himself. What the fuck could it all mean except he wasn't quite as cool as Harry first believed?

"I do what I want. And anyways, what does it matter to you?"

"I just don't want you looking at me like I'm a piece of meat."

"WHAT?"

"With big eyes and a hero's smile."

"I'm doing that?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair, highlighting his newly adulted jawbone and light stubble. "You look like the idiot protagonist of a romance novel."

They bickered all the way to the Three Broomsticks, where Madam Rosmerta still greeted every customer by name. Harry hadn't seen her since his sixth year, but she recognized him on sight. "What a lovely day this is! Harry Potter drinking at my pub once again. I heard you were back. Repeating your seventh year, yeah?" She immediately asked while finding them a seat. The place was crowded as could be, a Saturday night and all.

Harry laughed good naturedly. "Would you believe they hired me on as a teacher?"

"No! Though, I do remember you sneaking around with that Army of yours a few years back- though never in my shop. Too many teachers here, yeh?"

"Quite."

"Army?" Draco piped up. "From Fifth year?"

"Under Umbridge." Harry agreed, nodding fervently. "She taught us nothing. So I got a crew of students together and we learned how to do spells together, verbal and non-verbal. We found our patronus's together."

"In the room of requirement, right?"

It brought Harry back for a moment. Draco was the leader of the inquisitional squad. He was the one who found them out. Draco seemed to remember because he murmured, "I apologize for that. I was… stupid."

"You were taking orders."

"Stupidly."

"I don't begrudge you. We agreed to a fresh start."

"Aye." Malfoy seemed to relax.

Rosmerta threw a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses down. "You gents look like you could use this. On the house." Her smile a bright, confusing mess.

Harry made a face. "That's kind, but why…?"

"Oh, just having the famous Harry Potter in my midst is a blessing enough, sure to bring business. You boys enjoy." She smiled and floated away.

Malfoy looked at him. "That was odd."

"What? Free booze. Who's complaining?" Harry shrugged, uncorking the bottle.

"Do things like this happen to you all the time?"

The tone was accusatory and was not lost on Harry. "I mean, most people know my face. They've heard the stories. It's not exactly a big secret who I am."

"So, yes."

"Says the man who was raised in a manor."

"Hey." He gazed into Harry's eyes. "I am from a wealthy home, yes, but don't forget that most of the manor is in the Ministry's evidence locker. I am a spat-on member of society. To say I have fallen socially is a vast understatement. People don't look at me. Three children were told by their parents that, if Minerva wouldn't teach them Transfigurations there was no reason to be in school. I've gotten seventeen complaints about my employment."

Their conversation ended in a dead silence as Harry digested the truth. Draco had no social status, no power, and no friends. He was broken and at the end of his rope, just like Harry. Except Harry had achieved hero status from a year old, and Draco inherited shame.

There was only one correct decision left to make as Harry poured two large helpings of the unmarked booze. "Well, I'm the arsehole now. So let's drink."

And drink they did.

 **A/N: THANK YOU GUYS FOR YOUR PATIENCE! It's been a long ass time since I've tickled my FF love, and while I wrote most of this chapter on a whim while SUPER high, I'm not too terribly disgusted by it. And yes, I have an obsession with commas. It's hard to give up. I'm trying.**

 **P.S.S if it looks like I'm getting too OOC, let me remind you that they both just want everything to be okay again. Also, it's gonna get REALLY GAY, really quickly so buckle up.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys! I KNOW I just updated, but Drunk Harry was just too good to pass up. Please PLEASE leave a review. :)**

"You're my best friend."

"No, I really am not."

Harry poured another shot from the mostly-empty bottle. "You could be."

"No, Potter. I don't want to be your best friend."

The day had turned into night with several hours of drinking and joking. Rosmerta had started a lively game of darts, which turned into a non-verbal duel for supremacy.

And Harry? He was _smashed_.

"My best friends are dating. They're far away. I'm here now. With you." He reached for Draco's beet red face. "You're my friend now."

"I would call us colleagues. Maybe."

The worst part was that they had had pretty much the same number of drinks. Harry was just unaccustomed to it. The Dursleys didn't encourage much deviant behavior, and his focus on trying not to die took up the rest of his time. The thought struck him now that his party phase was going to hit him while he was supposed to be caring for children.

Warm air from all the mingling bodies caught up with Harry as he unconsciously nestled closer to Draco. The stress of the job mixed with several too many drinks clouded his already poor judgement. Draco looked _good_. His white hair was tuffed out in the front and shorter on the sides, emphasizing his manly jaw and attractively placed features. His clothes, a black button up, dark wash jeans and black pea-coat, only served to remind Harry that all he had ever seen of Draco in the past was robes. The change was different in a nice way.

A sexy way.

"You're doing it again. Looking at me like I'm the cure for cancer."

"I'm DRUNK." Harry shouted loudly as an explanation. "And your hair is so WHITE."

Draco snorted. "Is that right?"

"Can I touch it?"

"No."

"But…" Harry tried, trying to force fake tears. "...It's beautiful."

To Harry's genuine surprise, Draco blushed. It was a real blush too, the sort that made his skin blotch into white and red patches. It was the cutest thing drunk Harry had ever seen. He reached for the bottle again, figuring it would give him something better to do than compliment his ex-enemy all night, but Draco slid the bottle easily out of Harry's fumbling fingers. "You're done."

"C'mon."

"I'm serious. You're cut off. I doubt you know what you're talking about."

"I do know."

"Then that's even worse."

Pish posh. Harry reached for the bottle again. "You don't get it."

"Don't get what?" The blond whispered, suddenly a little huskier than he was before. "Don't get that you're drunker than I've ever desired to see you?"

"I'm sure there's a spell for hangovers."

"That's not the point. You're getting… slutty."

Harry grinned. "You think I'm cute, don't you?"

What could Draco say? He shook his head in wonderment. "It's amazing no one has killed you yet."

They each took a drink from the bottle, smiling a little more widely than usual. Harry didn't want the feeling to end. "I get nightmares too." he confessed in a tiny voice.

Draco obviously didn't know where it came from or what to say. He gave Harry a quizzical scoff. "Oh?"

"You get nightmares. We both get them. I just thought.. You know, that you'd like to know."

The blond shook his head vigorously, as if he were disgusted. "I don't get nightmares."

Harry's eyes fell downcast as he realized that it was possible Draco would never admit to it, and he might lose the beginnings of pleasant company if he pressed any harder. Draco was that sort, the kind that would never admit to his faults if he could. It was both annoying and oddly pleasant. Mysterious. Evil.

On a whole, Harry tried to forgive Draco's involvement in the war and -especially- Dumbledore's death. He didn't want the memories, which ate at his heart like ash. The sad, soft look in his headmaster's eyes as, even moments before death, the very same headmaster tried to spread love to Draco's frightened sixth year self. It brought Harry some comfort that the plan was orchestrated and that Draco refused to fire the killing curse, but not enough to trust him. Be near him, yes. Sleep within hexing distance, yes. But trust, actual trust between minds? Damn hard to come by. Really, the only person he ever achieved complete trust in was Ron, because Ron never fucked up. He made poor decisions, but they were always rectified easily.

"Potter... are you okay? You look sick."

Harry was indeed about to be sick, as demonstrated by the sudden hurl-face that spread across his features. He threw the bottle over to Draco and immediately retched all over the floor like a gyser.

"Oh God, Potter!" Malfoy cried, laughing with disbelief. "What the damn hell? You're a lightweight!"

That made sick, thoroughly exhausted Harry laugh harder than he could ever remember laughing. "Because I've had so many opportunities to drink!"

Together they wiped the sick off the floor with slow, steady flicks of the wand. Both were tipsy, Harry significantly more so. Harry rinsed his mouth with a cup of water Rosmerta sent over, embarrassed beyond belief.

"I expected so, having so many adult acquaintances. Are you telling me you never drank with Sirius Black?! He was a Black!"

"A Black, yes, but the sort that tried to be parent-like."

"I must say, Potter… you're different than I always imagined. Mature, even."

Harry's eyes slipped towards Draco's, something brewing within their depth. Something sensitive and sexual. Something incredible.

Or maybe it was just the firelight.

"Damn, Draco, was that a compliment?"

Malfoy made a face. "Did you just call me Draco?"

"Maybe."

"Well then, _Professor_ , it kind of was. After all, my only friends in school were Crabbe and _fucking_ _Goyle_. Godfuckingdamn Goyle, literally the most idiotic piece of lollygagging shit I had ever met. So compared to him and the other one, you're...god, you're intimidatingly intelligent.

Harry hadn't thought Draco was even buzzed until he started complimenting him. The drinks had taken Harry a second to feel, and Draco several hours. Or maybe his guard had just been up until then. In any case, the contented look on Draco's face as he took another drag from the bottle reminded Harry of Felix Felicis, and the feeling associated. The feeling of being in control.

He needed control.

He stood up, shoving the oak table away with a little strain. On the stand he realized that, while way drunker than he initially thought, the best thing for the night would be more alcohol. WAY more.

At the counter, Rosmerta stood whistling and wiping glasses. Through the doorway one could see a pile of dirty dishes and an invisible being wiping them clean. For a moment Harry didn't understand how such a thing was possible- until he remembered that he was, of course, a wizard. Rosmerta gave him a stink eye. "How have you not fucked him, yet?"

"Excuse me?" Harry squeaked with alarm.

The old lady sighed. "Listen to me, young Potter. I can see auras. It's a talent my Grandmother, a seer of the highest caliber, gave me freely. She expected something to become of it, but I prefer business. I use it now to understand my customer base. And you… you are something else."

Harry didn't know what to say, what to do, or when to do it. He just stood there, trying not to think dirty thoughts about Draco Malfoy. "What?"

"You're…" She snorted exasperatedly. "You're the sort that can love anyone. The sort that doesn't care whether or not they're girls or boys, Wizard or not, human-like or something extraordinary. You could fall in love with a giant if they had a beautiful personality. It's a very rare gift."

"Alright."

"And, while you may think this is a drunken dream, you're wrong."

"Brilliant."

"And I know… I know you like him."

She motioned Malfoy, who had begun swaying to the brassy sounds of the Bar Band. Just the sight of him, hair so bright it could blind someone, smiling slightly...it was enough to make Harry's heart beat just a little faster.

"How about him? What does his aura look like?"

She smiled knowingly. "Receptive."

That was enough.

Harry came back around with another bottle, this time of wine, and a couple crystal chalices. "Hope you're ready for this."

Malfoy's eyes bugged out at the sight. "Oh, I will vomit for sure."

"So who is the lightweight now?"

"Still you. You've already vomited."

Damn. Harry poured the wine, shoving the chalice into Draco's permanently curled hand. The pale fingers wiggled in thanks. Harry snorted. "You're drunk."

"I'm fine."

"Recite the alphabet backwards."

"Z,Y,X...W...V...U...letters…"

"See?"

"I highly doubt I could do such a thing sober, Potter."

The bar was suddenly less crowded, a little quieter. The gaggles of gentlemen making noise were gone, and left were Harry and Draco and a few bar flies who just focused on the drink.

Harry didn't know what he wanted in that moment. If he made the flutterings in his heart apparent, there would be hell to pay. If he didn't, he was weak. What to do? What to do?

"I'm tired, Draco. Can we go home?" He asked suddenly with puppy-dog eyes.

Draco sighed, draining the rest of his glass. "Did you pay for the wine in advance? Can we take it home?"

Harry nodded. "I think so. Take it anyways."

Side by side they launched themselves back out into the cold, Rosmerta chuckling from far behind. She knew it would be the sort of night worth chuckling over.

And it was.


End file.
